


whatever is in the picture (if you're there it's enough.)

by sanlight



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe - Call Call Call MV, Gen, M/M, because I said so, bts are the richest crime family in the country, bts help svt out of a tight spot, jihoon and yoongi are related, lots of unexpected friendships, mentions of other Idols, svt forge paintings, the gang au that literally no one asked for
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-08-26 15:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16684675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanlight/pseuds/sanlight
Summary: “What is he in trouble about, anyway?” It might be useful to him. If not, he could just throw them out of the parking lot and let the boy die somewhere else.The acting leader, smarter than Hoseok gives him credit for, narrows his eyes and says, “None of your business,” exactly at the same time the boy grins cheerily as his split lips bleed and answers, “The forged paintings on the black market.”or: seventeen and bts in a gang au that literally no one asked for





	1. (i)

On Thursdays, Hoseok works the graveyard shift at the hypermarket on the outskirts of town.

It’s not a lot of fun, he’ll admit. Due to the late hour and the frigid nights, rarely anyone ever comes to the store unless they’re having a crisis or need shelter from the rain. No one will visit him at work either, even though he’s dropped hints that he’d appreciate their company. Seokjin and Yoongi have gang business to deal with, Jimin and Namjoon are finalizing a deal somewhere in Tokyo, and Jungkook is always asleep by ten. Hoseok is left to his own devices, playing games on his phone or coming up with elaborate scenes in his own head to keep himself occupied. The only other person he has for company is Kang Daniel, the other cashier who never stops smiling, and honestly, Hoseok would rather be bored to death than talk to the guy.

 _I should have just taken up Mr. Jeon’s offer to be a hitman,_ he thinks, on another idle Thursday. He’s playing with a Rubik’s cube with one hand and trying to draw the image of Kim Yuna in his own head, entirely from memory. Daniel is cheerily humming along to a song he’s listening to, and every minute, the urge to shoot him intensifies in Hoseok’s head. There have been many Thursdays like this one, and there will be many more in the future as well. He’ll just have to learn to live with it.

Then, at 1AM, there’s a loud noise outside, like a body being thrown out of a moving vehicle, and then a muffled yelp.

“You get that.” Daniel says, nervously. He’s one of Yoongi’s recruits, which is why he’s such a fucking pussy all the time. (Yoongi-hyung, for all his experience and superiority, picks the nice, preppy ones with the sad sob stories. Hoseok should know – he was one of those nice, preppy ones with a sad sob story when Yoongi recruited him.) He fidgets. “I don’t – I don’t have my gun.”

Hoseok resists the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re going to have to kill someone at one point, Daniel,” he says, even though Yoongi has told him not to be so harsh on the kid. He doesn’t wait to see what Daniel has to say and instead pockets his pistol and sets out to the parking lot, and doesn’t look back even when he sees Daniel grit his teeth through his reflection in the glass door.

It’s a classic case of a gang fight. When Hoseok gets there, there’s a boy on the ground, curled into himself with his forearms covering his face and his knees pulled all the way to his chest to shield himself from the hits. He’s got light brown hair and doesn’t scream even when they start kicking him instead of punching. Other than him, there are four others. All of them bigger, taller and clearly more cut out for street fighting than the boy was.

“Alright, that’s enough.” Hoseok drawls out, and even though they aren’t his men, all of them stop immediately. He resists smirking at the look of utter terror one of the big guys’ face when he recognizes him. “Who are you guys? What’s going on?”

The tallest of them, the one Hoseok assumes is the acting leader, tugs the boy on the ground upwards by the hair. He still doesn’t scream, but his features crumple in pain. “This one,” the acting leader says, and tugs again, harshly this time, “has a debt to pay off. Except he won’t fucking co-operate because his loyalties are already somewhere else.”

“It’s really not like that,” the boy starts, but gets cut off by a punch to the stomach. Hoseok watches him wheeze before speaking again, “My loyalties aren’t to any gang.” Then his bloody lips curl up into a smirk, like he can’t help but tease. “I just don’t want to help _you_ , that’s all.”

The hands that lunge at him are instantaneous. Usually, Hoseok likes watching fights, and he especially wants to know what happens next since the boy clearly had balls of steel but no physical ability to fight the men off, but he knows Mr. Jeon dislikes blood on his concrete, so he says, “No, stop,” and watches everything go quiet again.

“Yes?” The acting leader asks.

“What is he in trouble about, anyway?” It might be useful to him. If not, he could just throw them out of the parking lot and let the boy die somewhere else.

The acting leader, smarter than Hoseok gives him credit for, narrows his eyes and says, “None of your business,” exactly at the same time the boy grins cheerily as his split lips bleed and answers, “The forged paintings on the black market.”

There’s a collective intake of breath from the four other people. Hoseok fights back a grin. “Well, boys,” he says, completely straight-faced, “looks like you’re going to have to let him go now.”

The acting leader bares his teeth. Hoseok isn’t surprised he’s his defensive – the forgeries are a big deal. “We found him first.”

“He’s coming with me,” Hoseok says, in a tone that doesn’t allow any arguments. The acting leader pulls the boy closer by the hair, and Hoseok tilts his head. “Oh? You’re not going to hand him over?”

“I –” he falters.

“It’s in your best interest to do so,” Hoseok continues, twisting his pistol in his hand and smiling airily. “I dislike killing useless, low order gang members like you over something like this. You simply don’t deserve to die by one of my bullets. Just hand him over and go about your business.”

One of the henchmen stiffens. “We _found_ him – ”

“And now I’m taking him.” Hoseok reaches over and pulls the boy away from them with minimal effort. They look like they want to shoot him, but he knows they won’t dare. If they shoot Hoseok now, Mr. Jeon will have all of them dead by morning. “Now, off you go.”

They turn around and walk away, dumb-founded.

“They work for Kim Junmyeon,” the boy supplies. He’s young, despite the bruises on his face and the hard look in his eyes, and the way he talks gives Hoseok the general idea that this isn’t his first time getting cornered for information.

Hoseok hums lightly and shoots them dead while the boy is distracted by the sound of Daniel asking if everything is okay from the inside of the store.

**↔**

Taehyung stops at Incheon to pick up Namjoon and Jimin, which is why he’s late to the interrogation. Yoongi isn’t very impressed with him when he stumbles into the building forty-seven minutes later than he said he’d be, but thankfully doesn’t say anything when he notices Namjoon and Jimin rubbing the sleep out of their eyes behind him. Taehyung nods politely at the intern at the doorway and motions for the door to be opened.

The informant is munching on breadsticks when Taehyung takes a seat across from him. His eyes are sharp and calculating even as he stares holes into the desk. There’s a plaster on his bottom lip and bandages crawling up his arms, bruises on his long neck and defined collarbones. A red jacket is slung over his shoulders even though he isn’t wearing it properly and the white shirt he’s wearing is mostly torn through.

“You look like you had an interesting night,” Taehyung remarks.

“It’s as good as it gets.” The boy shrugs. He’s handsome, despite the split lip and the bruises. He meets Taehyung’s eyes, dark and intriguing, and then says, “I’m guessing you already know who I am, Mr. Kim.”

_Yoon Jeonghan. Born October 4 th, 1995. Twenty-one years old. Ran away from home in 2012, missing persons report filed by family but no leads were found on the case hence was never found. Lived in France for a while, but now lives in Seoul. Exact location unknown. Has no criminal record, keeps a low profile. Only connections in the city is to his roommate, identity unknown._

“Something like that.” Taehyung leans back in his chair. “I know your name and your age and your criminal record. I don’t know how you’re connected to the forged paintings.”

There’s a crunch as Jeonghan bites off one end of a breadstick. “I know you’re all desperate to know where they’re from, and I can tell you everything you want to know in exchange for a favor.”

 _Not surprising._ “How do I know your information is valid?”

“I’ll provide necessary proof to back up my claims.” He grins and waves dismissively. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Mr. Kim.”

Taehyung arches an eyebrow. “So you’ve given this information out before?”

“No,” he has a conniving smile that tells Taehyung he should be careful of him in the future, “I’ve meddled with gangs before, is all. So, want to hear it or not?”

The door swings open. In a flurry of movement, Namjoon takes the seat next to Taehyung. He smells Jimin’s cologne and sex, but Taehyung thinks he should keep that to himself. “We’re interested,” Namjoon says, critically eyeing him down. “If this is a lie, though, you might as well as consider yourself dead.”

“I know the consequences of my own actions. I make it a point to be aware of them all the time.” Another crunch. Taehyung can tell he’s nervous because he keeps tapping his fingers on the desk. “I’ll state my condition first. Some of Junmyeon’s bastards took a few of my friends. I want you to get them back.”

Taehyung stares, blankly. “You’re in no position to be making demands.”

“In exchange, I will provide you with all the forged paintings,” he says, as if he hadn’t heard anything to begin with. “You can keep the profit made off them. I just want my friends back.”

Namjoon tilts his head. “You _know_ who makes them?”

Jeonghan stares. “You guys are dumb.” He says, and without giving a chance for either of them to react, he adds, “It’s me. I’m the one who forges all the paintings. Well, my friends and I, anyway.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes. “Where’s the proof?”

“You were the one who bought _Woman with a Parasol_ , right?” He motions to Taehyung. Taehyung nods. “Okay. Check the grass in the bottom. You’ll find something there that’s not the same as the original.”

The intern bursts in, clutching the painting like his life depends on it. He’s not sure how the kid was so quick to find it in the first place, but he chalks it up to Hoseok ratting the hiding place out.

The grassy patch is more or less the same as it’s supposed to be, but a closer look shows that there’s something there. Taehyung squints. “I can see something, but I can’t tell what it is.”

“ _Seo_.” Jeonghan says, and his finger comes up on the paper to trace the characters neatly in the grass. Taehyung looks up and narrows his eyes, but he moves his finger more to the left and traces another set of characters. “ _Yoon_.” He moves to the farthest right corner. “ _Hong._ The three of us worked on this together.” He sits back down, grinning slightly. “You can check the other paintings, if you wish. There’ll be at least three or four names on each one. _Starry Night_ actually has all of our names, since we all worked on it together.”

“And exactly how many of you are there?” Namjoon asks, sitting back down and pulling Taehyung with him.

“Thirteen.” His lips purse. “Seven of us are missing, though.”

There’s another pause.

“How much does a single painting bring in?”

“Everything is over fifteen billion US dollars.”

( _Shit,_ Taehyung thinks he hears Seokjin say, _that’s a lot of money, Yoongi, we’ll be fucking loaded if he’s right_.)

Taehyung exhales. “Is that why Kim took your guys?”

“No.” Jeonghan narrows his eyes. “He tried to get us to make paintings for them which they could sell and make money. Seungcheol said no because he’s stubborn like that, and the next thing I knew half of them were just abducted in broad daylight.”

“We’re technically doing the same thing to you if we accept,” Namjoon says, patronizingly.

“Please,” Jeonghan scoffs, dismissively, “I said I’d give you the paintings _only_. We also do other shit, you know.”

“So what you’re telling me is,” Namjoon starts again, “you and your gang of knock-off Monets will give us paintings to sell in exchange for getting some of your friends back from an enemy camp?”

“Yeah.” He munches on another breadstick. “We won’t even have to see each other. We’ll just mail you the paintings and you can set the prices and stuff. We’ll still sell our stuff on the side, though. That’s none of your business.”

“So we’ll make a shit ton of money and you’ll get nothing?”

“I’ll get my friends back.” Jeonghan says, shrugging slightly. “That’s enough for me. What do you say?”

Taehyung looks over at the glass screen. Yoongi nods.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, grinning slightly. Taehyung can see the _ka-ching_ signs in his eyes. He likes to pretend to be a saint, but Taehyung knows that he’s a greedy bitch just like the rest of them. “It’s a deal then, Mr. Yoon.”

“In the meantime,” comes Seokjin’s sharp voice from the door, “you and your friends can stay somewhere we can keep an eye on you. We don’t need more of you to go missing, or anyone to flake out on the deal. Got it?”

Jeonghan throws up a peace sign and Taehyung can tell he’s happy because the plaster on his lip is starting to bleed through. “Got it.”

**↔**


	2. (ii)

As soon as Namjoon shows the photographs of Jeonghan’s abducted friends, Yoongi’s blood freezes in his veins.

It’s Jihoon. The photograph is grainy, taken from security footage outside a bookstore, and the quality is bad, but Yoongi knows it’s Jihoon. The familiar, short stature, the slouching shoulders and the chubby cheeks in the second frame makes it obvious. It’s the same eyes too. Yoongi would recognize those eyes anywhere. He looks at them in his own reflection every fucking day. He’s gotten taller, but that’s not surprising. What really throws Yoongi off is the fact that he’s still wearing the blue jacket Yoongi had given him before leaving.

 _He waited,_ Yoongi thinks, and suddenly the amount of air in the room seems too less for his swelling lungs, _he waited for me and I never went back._

“Fuck,” he says, eloquently, and winces when Namjoon stops talking to give him an odd look. It’s unlike him to open his mouth in these meetings unless his input is necessary or directly asked for. Still, he knows he can’t hide something like this. It could compromise the entire mission, and really, he’s had many people’s blood on his hands, but he doesn’t think he can handle Jihoon’s. He clears his throat and points at the photograph and says, “That’s my brother.”

There’s a beat of horrible, static silence.

“I know,” Namjoon finally says, but according to the looks everyone else in the room shoots him, they had no clue. Jungkook’s is the worst – he looks betrayed when he meets Yoongi’s eyes, like he can’t believe Yoongi would hide something so big from the rest of them. Unperturbed, Namjoon continues, “I’ve known since Seokjin-hyung brought you here. I make it a point to know everything about everyone in this room, even the shit you’re trying to hide.”

Yoongi’s eyes narrow at that. These days, it feels like there’s a brick wall between them at Namjoon. It also feels like Namjoon’s the one who piles up brick after brick to increase its height. Yoongi removes a brick. He puts three more to make up for it. Yoongi isn’t sure what’s going on, but his instinct tells him that it’s nothing pretty.

“You guys actively work in retrieving them, then,” Taehyung says. His face had morphed from shocked to impassive so quick that Yoongi hadn’t even registered it. It seems like he’s hiding something too, these days, but there’s so much distance between them that it’s difficult to bridge. “Hyung can stay back and work on intel with me.” Yoongi barely gets a word out before he holds his hand up. “And I want no other inputs on this. You’re too close for fieldwork. I don’t care if you haven’t seen him in three years, you’ll still freeze and do something stupid if you see him.”

Yoongi thinks back to four months ago, when he’d been held captive in some shady American warehouse. They wanted to know where Mr. Jeon was, and Yoongi was the unlucky bastard they plucked off the streets to torture for information. (A lie he told after going back home: they asked him to pick between himself and Daniel to be a hostage. He picked himself because Daniel hadn’t even shot a fucking gun in his life so far.) He’d been there for six months before Taehyung came barreling in one night with a gun and a knife and minimal supervision, blood on his shirt and a split lip. It would have been easy for him to kill the giant American bastard with a knife held at Yoongi’s throat if he hadn’t completely frozen up at the sight of the messy cuts and bruises all over Yoongi. The two of them spent four more months in there until some of Mr. Jeon’s men got them out.

“Good point.” Namjoon says. He’s already shuffling the papers, and Yoongi watches Jihoon’s picture disappear into the others. “I’ll need the blueprints and routes by tomorrow.”

“Roger that,” Taehyung says. There’s silence right after, until Yoongi realizes everyone is looking at him and says, “Yeah, okay.”

On any other day, he’d stick around and help Namjoon figure out the plan, but right now, he really, really needs a cigarette.

↔

The warehouse is deathly cold when Mingyu comes back, so he turns the space heaters on and shuffles to the mattress in the center of the makeshift-living room to get some sleep. He’s not sure if anyone knows he’s back, though he can hear some shuffling from Chan’s corner and the soft sound of music playing from Vernon’s. He thinks of the painting left in his own station, still on an easel with his name added to the messy curls of hair on the woman’s head, and sighs quietly when he realizes it’s still incomplete. He’ll just sleep for now, though. In an hour or two someone will come outside and wake him up, anyway, so he might as well as catch some shut eye now.

Seungkwan’s wallet is still tossed haphazardly on the chair from four nights ago, and Jihoon’s brushes are still on the table directly across from the mattress. Joshua’s jacket is strewn messily on the floor a safe distance away exactly where Jeonghan had dropped it when he came back from driving through the city looking for them for hours, and Seungcheol’s expensive pen is still on the coffee table. He notices Myungho’s sketchbook tossed on the floor, just in his arm’s reach, but he doesn’t think he wants to look through it right now. He doesn’t think he can, anyway. There’s a fistful of Soonyoung’s shirt, which Chan had dropped onto the table after he’d come home. Mingyu remembers how his voice had shaken when he said, “They took him while I was right there,” as if there was anything more he could have done. No one wants to remove them from their respective places, like they keep expecting them to come back.

The warehouse door flings open. It’s Jeonghan, black eye and bruised lips and all. Mingyu hasn’t seen him since the night in the bar four days ago.

“Hey,” Mingyu greets. Seungcheol had always told them not to set Jeonghan off – he’s unpredictable when he’s angry, and it’s even worse if something is hurting him and he doesn’t want to talk about it. “Where were you?”

“Out.” Jeonghan says. He takes his ratty jacket off and drops it exactly next to Joshua’s. Momentarily, his eyes flicker to them, red strewn on black, and sighs quietly before picking them up and placing them on the hanger. It’s like he’s trying not to think about how the jacket had come off in his hands while he held on to Joshua as the men wrestled him away. “Did you eat yet?”

“I was waiting for everyone else.” Mingyu leans his head back. “Need first aid, hyung?”

“Kim Namjoon’s men gave me a plaster.” He says, like it’s the norm. He’d told them about his crazy plan which Seungcheol would definitely disapprove of, but Mingyu didn’t see any other way to get their friends back. Money seemed like a small sacrifice in exchange of their friends.

“How did that go?”

“They said they’d do it.” He flops onto the mattress, right next to Mingyu, so he budges up and makes space. “They said they’ll keep an eye on us in the meantime, so no one disappears or flakes out on the deal. You know how it is.”

Mingyu hums. He does know how it is. “Think they’ll get them back?”

“They said they didn’t want anything from us until they found the guys.” He cracks his knuckles. “I signed a contract and everything. They’ll come by tomorrow to ask questions and shit, so make sure nothing small enough to be stolen is in the room.”

“Got it,” Mingyu sighs. He wants to sleep, but he hasn’t eaten anything and he knows he probably should. Knowing Jeonghan, he probably hasn’t eaten either. “Hungry, hyung? I brought food but no one seems to be awake.”

“I’ll get them,” he mumbles. He’s sleepy too. Mingyu wonders if he’s been sleeping at all, or if the sound of Joshua’s screams have been keeping him up the same way Myungho’s voice yelling _help me, Mingyu_ keeps Mingyu awake at night. “Set the table.”

“The lights are on in Chan’s, I think Seok’s there.” Mingyu supplies. He gets up just as Jeonghan does and moves to the makeshift kitchen to unbox the takeout.

Jeonghan hums and disappears into the stations, knocking and drawing out members one by one. Wonwoo’s hands are still shaking when he takes his seat next to Mingyu’s. Junhui smiles shakily but he freezes up at the sight of thirteen chairs and the messy table. Chan claps Mingyu on the back when he lowers himself into his seat. Vernon smells like cigarette smoke even though he promised Joshua he’d never smoke again. Seokmin’s eyes are red.

Mingyu looks up when Jeonghan doesn’t come by even after he’s done taking the boxes out, and notices that he’s still standing in front of Joshua’s station. The note stuck on the door reads, _Everyone except Yoon Jeonghan is allowed in here,_ in Joshua’s messy handwriting, followed by Jeonghan’s note, which reads, _I didn’t want to come in your cave anyway_ , and a badly drawn laughing face.

Before Mingyu can ask him what he’s doing, he turns around and smiles at all of them. It’s as real as an aluminum Christmas tree, but Mingyu can’t bring himself to ask.

They eat in silence. No one wants to talk when they’re not used to the spaces between their shoulders when they sit in their seats, seven in a table meant for thirteen.

**↔**

It’s only instinct that carries him towards Hoseok’s hypermarket. He barely remembers the first time he was here, and he’s never bothered showing up even if he was free because he didn’t want to go near anything that belonged to his father unless he absolutely had to do it. Daniel is sleeping on the couch when he peers in and Hoseok is going over the blueprints on his phone. Jungkook knocks on the large, screen entrance and says, “I want beer,” without specifying if he’s here to rob the beer section or make a purchase.

“Already ahead of you,” Hoseok says, locking his phone and lifting his obscured hand under the counter to reveal a half-empty beer bottle. He slides another across the counter. “Come sit. No one’s bothered showing up here so far, so you must be here because you want to talk.”

Jungkook didn’t notice that Hoseok’s scar is beginning to heal. He hasn’t noticed much these days, and sliding into the seat next to Hoseok, he suddenly hates himself for it.

It’s been about seven hours since Namjoon dismissed them from mission briefing, but there’s still so much shit about it that’s bothering him. There’s been a lot of things about work that’s been pissing him off these days, but he hasn’t had a chance to speak to Yoongi much. And now he won’t even try, since Yoongi has enough to deal with. Jungkook tries not to think about the small boy in the photograph Yoongi had called his brother, but it’s all in vain and he’s left with a hollow voice in his head saying, _hyung didn’t trust you enough,_ repeatedly. He wants to tell Hoseok about that, wants to tell him how it feels like a punch to the throat each time he thinks about it.

He wants to tell Hoseok about the bullet he’d taken in Venice, about the pretty prostitutes he’d seen when he’d been there. He wants to tell Hoseok about his stop in Tokyo a few weeks ago and how he’d seen Yugyeom in a bar there. He wants to tell Hoseok about how Yugyeom’s hair is a bit longer than it used to be, and that he’d smiled back when Jungkook had smiled at him. He wants to tell Hoseok about the bottle of alcohol he found in Taehyung’s closet the other day. He wants to tell Hoseok that he’d thought of Taehyung while kissing Yugyeom. He wants to tell Hoseok that he’s not sure what’s wrong with him these days, wants to tell Hoseok that he doesn’t want to be in love with Taehyung anymore. He wants to tell Hoseok that he tried really hard to protect them from bad things.

“I think Jimin-hyung was the one who tried to kill Seokjin-hyung,” he says instead, and knows there’s no going back from this the moment Hoseok jerks in surprise and knocks his beer over.


	3. (iii)

It’s only when he’s sliding through the vents in Kim Namjoon’s house with nothing from his boss aside from a half-assed order to _fucking snoop through his house,_ that Choi Youngjae concludes that he does _not_ get paid enough for this bullshit.

Jung Hoseok is an amazing boss. He’s considerate about what hours are the most flexible for Youngjae, and never asks for him when he’s studying for finals or abroad on a dance showcase. He doesn’t hide information from him, doesn’t let him walk into anything without knowing what he’s getting into first. He tells him to put himself before the mission. If there’s an explosive, run. If someone is following him, shoot. If he thinks it’s unsafe, return. He buys Youngjae a big dinner after successes and hard vodka after the failures. All in all, he’s the most accommodating boss Youngjae has ever worked for.

It’s just that his jobs are fucking weird.

Scratch that: _this_ job was fucking weird.

He’s supposed to snoop through his boss’ closest accomplice’s house in search of documents that proves him guilty on four counts of gang treason, and maybe a murder weapon while he’s at it. He’d always been under the impression that Kim Namjoon and Hoseok-hyung were friends, but it’s slowly becoming apparent that that is not the case. He wonders what else they’re all hiding, but knows not to ask. He’ll just be in, out, and about, like he’s paid to be.

He halts when he hears voices. It’s Hoseok-hyung’s friends. The tall, Gucci clad one with the deep voice and the increasingly concerning alcohol issues and Kim Namjoon. Youngjae reaches, slowly into his pocket, and turns on the recording device.

“ … I know you were the one who did it,” Gucci is saying, thoroughly frustrated and clearly frazzled. From the vents, Youngjae can see him run a hand through his hair and huff. “I don’t want to believe it, but I know it was you, okay? I went back to America and got every single one of your phone records and contacts.”

Namjoon seems unbothered. “So you’ve been spying on me?”

“Shut the fuck up, I’m talking.” Gucci has quite the mouth on him. “If you think you can make this about _me_ , you’re fucking wrong. This is about _you,_ and how _you_ tried to kill Yoongi-hyung when we were in America. I was just collateral damage, wasn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a reply. “I just don’t get why you’d do it. Yoongi-hyung hasn’t done anything wrong.”

“I didn’t try to kill Yoongi-hyung,” Namjoon says. He leans back on his seat, ignoring the defensive eye-roll from Gucci. “If I did, he’d be dead by now.”

“You gave them the location,” Gucci hisses. “You literally called them and said, _Agust D will be there by 22:38PM with his recruit, grab the two of them and do what you have to._ You may as well as have given them a gun and a spare bullet. It’s the same fucking thing.”

There’s a beat.

“And you don’t know,” Gucci’s voice shakes, “You have no fucking clue what happened in there, okay? You weren’t the one who saw them beat the hell out of him every day for four months, you weren’t the one who saw him scream so much that he lost his voice. You weren’t the one who fixed his broken bones and took punches for him. It was _me_. I don’t care if it was intentional or not, you betrayed him, and that lead to him almost dying in a fucking warehouse. Even then it wasn’t you who held him and told him that he had to stay alive, it wasn’t you who had his blood all over your hands. It was _me._ So shut the fuck up with that _I didn’t try to kill him_ shit, and just tell me why.”

Youngjae feels like crawling out of his own skin. He’s suddenly very aware that he’s not supposed to be here.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Namjoon says, and Gucci stiffens to stone. “Get out if you don’t have anything important to say, Taehyung-ah. I have a business to run.”

There’s a brief silence, and then Gucci turns around and leaves. He slams the door on his way out.

Kim Namjoon deflates as soon as he’s gone. He sighs, places his head in his hands and looks like the soul has left his body.

Kim Namjoon is back to shuffling papers when Youngjae crawls out of the vents and jumps the fence to get to Hoseok-hyung.

Taehyung sees him, but he doesn’t ask who he is.

↔

Here’s the thing, though: Jungkook still knows Yugyeom’s phone number by heart.

It’s one of those things he can’t explain to anyone even if he tries. Saying that they’re close seems like too much, because they’re not. They _used to_ be close. Now they’re just strangers who fuck occasionally. He knows enough about Yugyeom to know that he won’t get in the way of things, but he doesn’t know Yugyeom, per se. Still, saying that he doesn’t know him that well seems like a lie too. Very few people had seen the biggest low of his life a couple of months ago, and Yugyeom had been one of them.

“It’s three in the morning, Jungkook,” comes Yugyeom’s terse greeting when he finally answers. He’s not sleeping, though. Jungkook can hear the wind and traffic mingling together, so he’s either walking around or sitting on a dangerous ledge.

“I know that,” Jungkook says. He feels stupid, calling Yugyeom out of the blue like this, but he knows that he’s the only one Jungkook can even remotely trust. “I need a favor.”

There’s the sound of heeled shoes against the ground. He always insists on wearing those, both on the job and off it, as if he’s not tall enough without them. “I leave for Sweden in a week,” he hums, and it’s not a yes, but it’s not a no, either. “Jinyoung-hyung needs me for something. I’ll do it depending on the time it’ll take.”

“It’s not a big favor.” Jungkook isn’t sure how to explain this over the phone, and he isn’t sure if he wants to either. He sighs. “Tell me where you are. I think it’s best to discuss this in person. There’s … a lot to tell.”

“Got it,” There’s a click of a lighter. “I’m at work. My break is in ten.”

“Thanks,” Jungkook says, and he’s about to hang up when Yugyeom sighs.

He asks, “Is this about Taehyung?”

Yugyeom doesn’t necessarily approve of Taehyung. He works in the same club Taehyung frequents with his rich friends, so he knows what kind of a guy he is and what kind of friends he has. He’s danced for them, accompanied some of them home. He always said that the Taehyung he saw and interacted with wasn’t the Taehyung that Jungkook said he was in love with. He also said that Jungkook had to come to terms with whether he was really in love with Taehyung or if he was in love with the idea of being in love with Taehyung.

“No,” he says, instead of the scathing _why do you care_ he really wants to ask, “It’s about Jimin-hyung. Can I see you or not?”

“Yeah,” Yugyeom’s reply comes out airy, like he’s puffing on a cigarette or like he hadn’t expected that answer, “See you in ten.”

It only occurs to Jungkook later that Yugyeom probably knows his number by heart too, since he’d greeted him by name when he’d answered. He’s not sure why that thought leaves him feeling like the air was punched out of his lungs.

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Most people would make the mistake of thinking that Joshua isn’t tough enough for the life they lead. Everything about him is gentle. The way he spoke and smiled and helped people around him automatically gave an impression of a nice, morally decent young man. He picks flowers and keeps them between pages of books he likes, holds hands with whoever he’s walking (especially if they’re Chan), likes tea over coffee and rarely drinks alcohol. He’s hardworking, quiet, and minds his own business. In a way, he’s the reliable older brother figure who doesn’t encourage reckless behavior like Jeonghan does or make them work hard like Seungcheol does. He gives the warmest hug and allows people to share his blanket at night even though he gets cold. Everything about him was just so gentle that it was difficult to believe that he’d be part of the black market to begin with.

It’s a good thing Jihoon’s never been one of those dumbasses. 

Since day one, he’s known that _something_ about Joshua was different from the soft exterior he showed. The first time they’d met, there was a shiner on his face, several cuts on his arms, and what looked like finger-shaped bruises around his neck. Seungcheol had asked why he looked like that, and his response had been a slight, harmless smile and a quiet, “Just a little scuttle.” No one else had made the connection to the beaten clubbers conveniently parked out near where Joshua had come from, but Jihoon had. He’s familiar with the darkness lurking behind the warmth in Joshua’s eyes because he’s seen it elsewhere before.

 _Yoongi-hyung always looked like that,_ he’d thought, and decided that maybe he shouldn’t think about this again.

It’s been approximately ten days since Jihoon’s abduction. Seungkwan’s been here thirteen days, Myungho’s been here twelve days, Soonyoung’s been here eleven days, Seungcheol’s been here nine days and Joshua’s been here eight days. There’s nothing much to say about it, so far. There’s the occasional fight, when the watchers get tired of watching and hit one of them. Even with bound arms and a bruised jaw, Seungcheol is quick to leap in between whoever they’ve picked.

(Jihoon’s known Seungcheol for a long time. Yoongi-hyung never liked him, because he was older and worked for the gang. Seungcheol, at age sixteen, was an expert hitman. He hadn’t told Jihoon that until Yoongi-hyung figured it out. He taught Jihoon where to punch if he wanted it to hurt less, how to stab someone and then punch the exact same spot to make them hurt even more, how to shoot a Glock, how to drive a car, how to jack a car and all the stuff that’s kept him alive since Yoongi-hyung disappeared. He’s seen Seungcheol get stabbed, get shot at, get chased, but through all that, he’s never heard Seungcheol scream even once until this.

They make him scream a lot. Jihoon wishes he could do something, but his hands are literally bound and Seungcheol had warned them to just shut up and let him do it. Jihoon’s not sure why he’s okay with getting himself hit for them, but he guesses it’s because he feels morally responsible for getting some of them abducted and abandoning the others.)

“Hey,” Joshua says, sliding into the empty space between Jihoon and the wall. He’d exchanged his sweater for the thin, oversized shirt Jihoon’s pretty sure belongs to Mingyu that Seungkwan was wearing. It does a good job of dwarfing him and making him look defenseless as hell. He looks outside, makes sure the watchers are thoroughly invested in whatever they’re doing, signals for Soonyoung and Seungcheol to lean in until the four of them are sitting with their heads hunched together, and then drops his voice and says, “I think I know how to get us out of here.”

 _Bingo,_ Jihoon thinks, and smiles for the first time in ten days.


End file.
